


if your world falls apart, i'd start a riot

by HEARTBROKEN



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Abuse, Depression, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, carl's past, first chaptered fic on ao3(:, pete abuses ron, ron is actually a lot better than he really is in this fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-29 14:00:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6378880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HEARTBROKEN/pseuds/HEARTBROKEN
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carl's past haunts him, Ron's present is killing him.</p><p>Why must broken souls always draw together?</p><p>In other words, both boys are recovering. Pete Anderson is a total asshole. Ron and Carl find themselves as (kid of?) friends who cry a lot and also hug forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> hey! so, this is my first rarl fic, twd fic, or chaptered fic on ao3! i would love some advice, tips, and/or pointers on how this thing works haha
> 
> anyway, this is sort of fun for me to write. idk. if i go months without updates and then update thrice in one week im sorry crazy schedule/writers block yadayadayada

Ron was done. Done with everything. Done with his dad, his mom, his brother, these people, the Apocalypse which he knew nothing about, having to hide his bruises, having to hide his cuts, pretending to be fine all day - he was just done.

His father had made it quite obvious that _this_ was what he should be doing. Ever since he first found his scars, while tearing his clothes trying to beat him harder, he had just egged him on. He never cared about him, or his Mom, or his brother. His own father cared about no one, especially not his family. Ron was absolutely done with being told to kill himself daily, so he figures that he should just go ahead and do it, not like anyone actually cared about him. Or ever will.

So here he was, at three in the morning. Standing on a bridge over a creek in Alexandria, ready to die. Ready for release from this eternal hell that he was being forced through. It was a twenty-five foot drop, and he was certain that he would break his neck in the process. Just to make sure, if he didn't succeed, he's stolen a shotgun from the armory and was prepared to shoot himself if the fall wasn't completely fatal. He took one last look at his stinging, freshly cut arms, and let a few tears fall. Is this really what his life had come to? Suicide had really become the best option?

By the time he was ready to jump, his arms were outstretched like a bird and he was shaking with sobs, but he couldn't feel anything at all. All he felt was himself being welcomed into the darkness that death was.

 

* * *

 

 

Carl couldn't sleep. Every time he shut his eyes, he saw the prison burning. Or Hershel's head being chopped off. Or Beth's corpse. Or himself, killing his Mom. Or Maggie crying. Or a walker clawing at him, particularly the one that got his shoe. Mostly though, he saw the prison burning and that feeling of total and completely helpless returned. So, most nights he didn't sleep. It got worse in Alexandria, because he saw in his nightmares the same future for them.

At 2:30 in the morning, he decided to take a walk. Clear his mind, try to make himself tired. But he couldn't sleep; he could never sleep on a quiet night where he could hear natural sounds, too peaceful.

Usually on his walks he sat by the bridge, staring at the water and wishing for memories to rush out of him just like the stream carried water from under his feet. He could hear the water as he turned the corner, slowing his pace and closing his eyes for a few seconds to just listen to it, already feeling calmer.

His eyes snapped open once he heard the difference, the sound of sobs. He saw a figure in the dark, arms stretched in a position to jump. The figure was trembling, sobs ripping through their body. Carl ran closer, recognizing it as Ron. He didn't care what little he knew of the boy, merely his age, name, and which house he lived in. No one deserved to die like this. Jessie, Sam, and Pete didn't deserve to loose someone like this.

As Ron started to fall down into the water, Carl hooked his arms underneath Ron's temporary bliss until the boys fell back onto the concrete. It was then when Ron screamed, but it wasn't like it could wake anyone up. These houses are practically soundproof. He knew because no one had ever heard his screams when his dad was beating him senseless.

Carl held the thrashing boy down for a solid fifteen minutes, before Ron began to stabilize himself. His thrashing slowed and his screams turned into coherent words, like _"Why'd you stop me?"_

Carl slowly let go. Before disconnecting himself from the boy, he spoke to him. "If I let go, you have to promise that you won't crawl over the edge. Okay?" Ron nodded, and Carl reluctantly let go. Ron scrambled up, looking at Carl in the eyes, watching him stand up. Neither really knew where to go from there. Ron took a step back, Carl took a step forward.

Eventually, Carl finally said something. "Do you wanna spend the night with us...?"

Ron paused, eventually giving a small nod and following Carl. This was safer than trying to get back into his own house, his dad was asleep on the couch and he might get beaten again for going out at such a late hour.

Carl snuck Ron up to his room. Rick's family was not quite so accustomed to anyone from Alexandria being in there home, especially not overnight. He didn't mind it, but he was sure that Ron wouldn't want to hear the yelling a Carl would receive, if he caused it.

He didn't really know how to act around Ron, or how to treat him. He'd known that Beth had tried to kill herself, but she wanted to die for different reason. Carl had a bad feeling that was eating away at him that this wasn't because of the apocalypse, but something completely different. Andrea wanted to die too, but that was different in its own way too.

Once the two entered Carl's room, they had a wordless conversation about where they were going to sleep. Carl would sleep in his bed, they decided, Ron would sleep on the floor with most of Carl's pillows and several blankets. Carl wanted Ron to sleep on the bed with him, so he could make sure that he didn't leave, but Ron completely ignored him and set himself up on the floor. Carl didn't push.

With Carl's mind preoccupied on why the hell Ron was trying to kill himself, he was able to forget the prison and fall asleep. For once he didn't dream of death and destruction, but he thought about Beth. Her singing voice, how Maggie was able to keep her from suicide. He dreamed of the farm, Maggie and Glenn meeting, searching for Sophia, seeing that deer - and he felt safe. For at least the first hour of his rest.  
After that, he saw Beth's corpse. The barn being opened, revealing Sophia, being shot, having surgery, Hershel's death - anything bad connected to the farm. His nightmares carried him through the rest of the night.

* * *

 


	2. two

* * *

 

In the morning, when Ron woke up, it was still barely morning. It was probably almost seven, and memories of last night were flooding back to him. He stood up, careful not to wake Carl, and lifted up his shirt. He always checked his scars, every morning. To make sure that his mind wasn't playing tricks on him.

One or two of his bruises faded, several appeared, several got better, and several got worse. He'd gotten good at telling the difference between the ones he'd gotten from kicking, punching, pushing (and onto what surface). There was one huge one a little bit up and left on the right side of his hip that was from being stepped on. It was huge, some sort of a greenish black color. It was absolutely disgusting. Every time he moved, it seemed like; it only began to hurt worse. The pain was always the worst in the morning.

After examining his bruises, he dropped his shirt back down and rolled his sleeves up, examining all of scars. The new, the old, and the ones in between. He recognized the ones from last night, still stinging and a hell of a lot brighter than the fading ones. He knew why he did all of them, and he could name a reason for every single one of them. A different reason for each individual one, too. The fresh ones needed to be tended to, because he wasn't dead. When the plan was to die, he cut as deeply as he pleased. Deeper than he'd ever gone before. It hurt like hell now, way worse than they'd ever done in the past.

"Do you want a bandage or something?" Carl said from behind Ron. The older boy jumped back in response, yanking his sleeve back down. Carl took three steps back, anxiously waiting for Ron to say something.

"Uh, okay." Ron said, and Carl turned around to go get the bandages from his bathroom. Ron fiddled with his skin, in a spot that was bare; untouched by himself or his father. It was a simple nervous habit, nothing more.

Carl came back and handed the bandages to Ron. The older boy turned around, rolling up his sleeve reluctantly. The tension in the room was unbelievably thick. Thicker and more uncomfortable than either boy ever had experienced before.

The younger decided to try something incredibly risky. He walked to the other side of Ron and bandaged up the wounds himself. He could tell which ones where the new ones and the old ones. He used to have a cat and he knew what they look like, even though these had been done by knife and not claw.

He knew that not all of these could be intentional. The cuts, sure. But the bruises, not a chance. Someone was hurting Ron and Carl wanted to know who, but he knew inside that it was completely wrong to press for information. Ron may want to talk about it; he may want to pretend that this had never happened. Either way, Carl would be there through it all, if Ron needed it.

 

* * *

 

When Ron got home, his father was still a little drunk from the previous night. He tried to just slip by, but that's never worked. He's always been caught, and he always will be.

"Boy! Whereeeee do yooouu think that yyyou'reee goingg?" Pete slurred at Ron, his fists clenched.

Ron braced himself for he hitting or kicking to ensue. "I was out."

_First kick._

"I tolllllllllllld you, yooooou are not allowed to leaaaave this houuuuse unles _I_ sayyy so!"

_Punch._

"I'm so sorry, I swear that I will never leave this place ever again." Ron whispered, feeling blood start to pour from his skin in two place. One, where he was kicked, on his collarbone, and another one where he'd received a punch, his ribs.

"Daaaamn riggght boyyyyy!" Pete yelled at him, covering him in his alcoholic spit.

He then threw Ron against the wall, hitting the corner of one of his mom's paintings with his lower left back, then Pete stepping on his legs before falling over and passing out on the couch.

Ron picked himself up and limped to his room, just wanting to play music and let that fill him up all day, instead of hate towards his father, or angst towards Carl saving him last night.

The more Ron thinks about it, the more right he seems. Carl had absolutely no right to pull him back last night. He didn't know how his dad was. He didn't know that it had gotten to the point where Ron didn't think that he could see the end, other than either the alcohol killing his father, or his father killing him. He didn't want that, he wanted to just escape. Carl, a boy he barely knew anything about, didn't get a say in this. Ron's life wasn't up for a vote. Carl had no right to pull him back like that. Absolutely no right.

Enid never asked. He knew that she knew, even though she'd never said more than an "You know that you can stay over at my house whenever, right?" It sounded innocent, but she had that sympathetic tone in her voice and her eyes were glossed over- he knew that she knew. And she knew that he knew that she knew. They never discussed the topic though. They talked about Enid's parents sometimes, and he knew the jist of what happened.

What was Carl even doing there, at that beyond early (or late) hour in the night?


	3. three

Carl watched while Ron walked out of view from the window, to make sure that he was going home and not back to the stream. He was shaking with worry, his mind doing back-flips.

Did he make the right decision, stopping Ron? He vaguely remembered Andrea yelling at Dale for taking away her gun, and her easy way out. He was positive that Ron would have the same thought process. Ron would hate him, never talk to him again, and Carl would be completely freaked out worried for no reason.

He couldn’t let anyone know that he was worried though. No, he was way too strong and stubborn for that.

So maybe he lingered at the window for a few seconds, or minutes. Maybe an hour or so, but whose really counting anyway? He might have been watching for Ron, or maybe he was trying to detach himself. It doesn’t really matter what he was doing, anyways.

After seemingly endless detaching, he made his way downstairs. Judith immediately recognized him and reached for him. Carl thought that this action was incredibly cute, and apparently so did Michonne.

“Your sister will not eat any piece of food from me whatsoever. Here, you try.” Michonne said, while handing the applesauce over to Carl. Carl grinned at Judy, thinking that it was adorable that Michonne always tries so feed her, but she’s never successful.

After a while, she refused to eat anymore applesauce. Carl took this as cue that she was done eating and brought her down from her chair, holding her while she tried to grab his hair.

Michonne was watching the two interact. She thought of her son, what Carl would’ve acted like with him, if he would be like an older brother to Judith – just what kind of impact he’d have on their little family. He missed him a lot, but she loved her life now too. She couldn’t pick one over the other, her old life or present day.

The more she observed Carl, the more that she decided that something was off with him. He seemed distant, like his mind was taking places that were anywhere but right here right now.

“Where’s your head today, Carl?”

Carl snapped back to reality, realizing he’d zoned out again.

“Oh, uh nothing. I’m just really tired.”

Michonne sighed. She knew that there was something on the boys mind, something huge and heavy.

“Tired from what? Sitting around all day.”

Carl cringed. He’d never been good at lying to Michonne; she had this strange ability to read him like a book. Sometimes, he hated her talent, but other times; he just needed to talk about his problems and his issues with someone. Michonne had grown to be his best friend this way. He told her things he could never tell his dad, because he would never understand. She was like his mom, but they were way closer than just that. They really were best friends.

“No, I just- I can’t- I just don’t know what to do.” Carl sighed.

Michonne took Judith from him, setting her down on the floor carefully and then sitting in one of their chairs. Carl sat down next to her, trying to figure out how much to say.

“Last night, I saw someone trying to jump off the bridge over the creek and trying to kill themselves. I- I offered for them to sleep on my floor last night, they did, a- and this morning I saw their scars… some were intentional cuts and the others were bruises from abuse and I just… I don’t know what to do.”

Michonne was shocked. She hadn’t heard of anyone abusing people in a place like this, and she couldn’t understand why anyone would want to hurt anyone in a place like this. They were safe. They had food, running water, walls, a roof over their head, each other. But if someone was doing this to someone to the point where they wanted to kill themselves, this was serious.

Carl waited for a response from Michonne. She sat there in awed silence before Carl stood up, walking towards the door.

“Wait!” Michonne yelled at Carl. He paused, turned around and stared at Michonne. “Carl, we have to talk about this. You don’t have to tell me who it is but I’m going to give you advice.”

Carl nodded, walking back to his chair and sat down.

“You have to help them. They may not want yourself, but you have to help them now.”

“Should I have stopped them from jumping?”

Michonne paused. “Andrea talked about how Dale stopped her from dying. She was thankful that he did, even though she was angry with him at the time and it was never his decision.”

“I know it wasn’t my decision. I just thought that life was too precious nowadays and I didn’t want their family to endure their death.”

“Okay, but listen to me Carl. Whatever shit they’re going through, you’re probably the only one who knows. You have to be there for them. You can’t just pretend that last night didn’t happen. You’re in their life now, Carl, whether you want to be or not.”

Carl sighed. “I know that you’re right… I’m just so worried that they hate me now. It really wasn’t my decision I mean I barely know them, but I still did it. Does that make me an asshole?”

“Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn’t. Either way, Carl, you saved someone’s life. Don’t be way too cocky and ignorant, like _‘hey, I saved your life so now you owe me’_ type, but you should view it like that. You saved their life, whether they ever wanted you to or not. Do not forget that you don’t get to control them like that though. That’s when you become an asshole.”

Carl nodded, smiling gratefully for Michonne’s advice. He wouldn’t push it. He _wouldn’t_.

He would be there for Ron. He would fight to listen to all of his problems. Ron Anderson wouldn’t want to jump off the bridge again, and if he did, Carl would have to let him.


	4. four

It was four in the morning.

Ron's feet carried him out of his house, careful not to step on any glass shards. He'd gotten skilled at this, lots of opportunities to practice.

Ron walked out of his home, his feet just itching to be somewhere else. He couldn't stand being in such a broken home, not today.

He ended up walking back towards the stream. He didn't think he could work up the courage to jump again, that was a different story. But none the less, it was a calming place for him. During the day, when his Dad was seeing a patient who'd tried too hard to ignore the abusive signs radiating from their family's home because Pete was a doctor; he'd come here and just listen to the water flow beneath him. It was a therapeutic feeling, yet he'd never been during the night hours. He couldn't remember why he hadn't been here at this hour before.

As he approached, he began to remember. But it was too late.

He'd never been here before at this hour because it wasn't his now, this was someone else's safe place.

Of course Carl couldn't sleep. Shocker. So naturally, he had to get out of his bed. Out of this house. Out of his own skin.

Out of his own head.

He was surprised to see someone else at his spot, at his haven. Ron's the only person who he'd ever seen there, but it couldn't be him. He wouldn't come back right? But then again, the person was his size, had his frame.

It was Ron.

Ron noticed him, and seemed to try and grow smaller. Carl couldn't turn around. He couldn't sleep so, what was the point anyway? He might as well do this.

He sat down at least a yard away from Ron, or at least what seemed like a yard. Measurement was hazy these days.

"You're back." Carl said aloud, not knowing what else he possibly could've said.

Ron tensed, then eventually sighed and gave in to Carl's dumb conversational skills.

"Yeah, I'm back. Why are you back?"

Carl didn't say anything for a while. He hadn't told a single person about his nightmares - what he saw every time his eyelids grew too heavy for too long. "Couldn't sleep." He eventually said.

Ron didn't press.

They sat in silence for probably twenty minutes before Ron took a short breath and decided - why the hell not?

"I know what you're thinking. You're probably thinking, _'This guy hasn't even left these walls. He doesn't know what it's like out there. Why the hell would he want to end his life? What could've possibly happened to this kid?'_ And you're right; I've never been outside of these walls, since the beginning of the end of the world. But that doesn't mean that I don't -"

"That's not what I think." Carl interrupted Ron.

"Really? That's not what you think? Well-"

"It isn't. Not all monsters live outside the walls, some live in people's heads."

Both boys were sat in silence.

"I could take you outside the walls, you know? So you can see what it's like, if your serious about ending your life. I won't try and stop you again... That's not my place. Not my decision."

"I don't know..."

Carl sighed. "Please, please let me do this. Please, Ron."

Ron stood up.

"Fine. Tomorrow, noon, here." Ron then spun on his heels and walked away, back towards his house.

"It's a date." Carl laughed, before picking himself off the ground and walking himself back to his bed, where he slept lightly for the next two hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter ik :/ i've felt kind of uninspired and i started supernatural (i'm on s8 now) and this is kind of a filler... anyway, i hope that y'all are enjoying this so far!

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts? advice? anything? comment below please, i love reading comments on my work(:


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